


What Could Have Been

by Thomas McQuinn (AtrydvonAschoen)



Series: The Impermanence of Wishes [1]
Category: Homestuck, MS Paint Adventures
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2010-07-06
Updated: 2011-04-07
Packaged: 2017-10-10 15:06:34
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 5
Words: 15,221
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/101085
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/AtrydvonAschoen/pseuds/Thomas%20McQuinn
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Memories are a painful thing. They show us what we had, and lost; they show us our failures, and our shortcomings. Memories make us who we are, and pain is a natural part of life. After Jade's near-death experience, Davesprite relates the memories from his failed future, of stories told to him by a Jade Harley staving off the fear of death with thoughts of what could have been.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. What Could Have Been

**Author's Note:**

> Originally this was a request for a fan-art by Shadow of the Lotus on the MS Paint Adventures forum in the Romantic Art thread. When nobody took notice of it, I took up the task of writing it into a fanfiction; what was originally going to be a short little one-off sprouted legs and ran off with my imagination, spawning a 'springboard' to a few Alternate Universe fictions, centering around Dave and Jade. The successive stories, explained by Davesprite, are not actually what he is telling to Jade, but rather, as a result of the 'every possible action spawns an alternate universe where that action was taken' rule of time-space thinking, we are getting brief glimpses into these alternate worlds. Some of them will be relatively close to the true current timeline; others still will be wildly different. Familiar faces will come and go, not always in the roles expected of them. As we are seeing these excerpts of other worlds, other lives, mere moments pass, perhaps naught but a minute or two between chapters; Davesprite's explanations, and Jade's responses during that time, will be left to the imagination while we focus on more interesting things happening in another world altogether.

&gt;_ Davesprite: Pester Jade.

\---

\--- turntechGodhead [TG] began pestering gardenGnostic [GG] ---

TG: yo jade  
TG: you there  
TG: ...  
TG: cmon jade what the hell  
TG: this isnt the time for a nap you know  
GG: im here....  
TG: you ok  
TG: youve been quiet for a while  
GG: the squiddles broke my fall...  
GG: so im fine!!  
TG: what  
TG: what fall  
GG: um....  
TG: what the hell happened

 

Davesprite refused to flip his shit. His shit would remain unflipped, like shit-eggs sunny side up, with a side of shit-grits and crunchy shit-sausage. Regardless of his sooooo cool demeanor, however, his feathers were still a little ruffled. The idea of something happening to Jade, the only person (to his knowledge) that was an absolutely straight-up un-ironic fan, gave him a chill, one not unlike the feeling of a pair of cold, dead puppet eyes boring into his back.

Waiting.

Watching.

Unblinking.

Shaking the mental image, he turned his attention to the Pesterlog.

\---  
MOMENTS IN THE PAST... AND ACROSS AN OCEAN...  
\---  
Lying atop a pile of assorted plushies, squiddles, and the mattress of her bed, Jade remained still for a moment, her entire body humming with adrenaline; every conscious thought in her head screamed MOVE but she couldn't get anything to work, and was briefly afraid she had broken something important.

A radioactive flash at her side, however, caused her to snap upright, and Becquerel gave an ethereal, hollow bark, nudging her lunchtop closer to her with his nose. Giving the spacetime-warping demon-dog a hug, she flipped open the lid of her lunchtop; the hologram fizzled, refusing to cooperate, until a well-placed thwack to the side straightened it out.

It seemed, based on the fact that Dave was suddenly the shade of an orange creamsicle on her Pesterchum client, that Davesprite was talking to her.

\---  
THEN A FEW WORDS HAPPENED THAT WE ALREADY KNOW.  
\---

GG: well.. i got john to wake up... but he wasnt awake yet so...  
TG: so what  
TG: what did you do  
TG: kiss him  
TG: like some ass-backwards sleeping beauty shit or something  
GG: no!!!  
GG: nothing like that!!  
GG: i just...  
GG: prospit was going to land on him, so i threw him to the side....  
GG: ...my dream self died.... i think it made my dreambot explode.  
TG: shit  
GG: and it was on top of the tower where my bedroom was  
GG: and i was asleep so...

 

The piece of shit sword extending through his midsection felt as if it had just been pumped slam full of liquid nitrogen, chilling him to the bone as a mental image of Jade (supplied oh-so-thoughtfully by his new status as a Kernelsprite) plummeting from her tower to the ground far, far below flashed in his mind's eye.

 

GG: dave?  
TG: but youre ok right

 

If he were the superstitious type, Davesprite's fingers would've been crossed. Kernelsprites might not sweat, but he was damn near ready to set a precedent and start sweating bullets. Or maybe swords, shit, he didn't know. Green lit up his eyes behind the iShades and he released a breath he didn't know he was holding.

GG: yeah i'm fine...   
GG: i have so many squiddles and other plushies that i really didn't feel anything when it hit  
TG: are you sure  
TG: dont be lyin to me jade  
GG: im not lying!!!! DX DX DX  
TG: you said the same thing in the future  
GG: future??

 

Shit. He didn't want to bring that up. Just thinking about it hurt. He had managed to find his way to LoWaS, to John's house, after the botched takedown of the Denizen, and without John's server copy was forced to just watch through a hacked together 'sub-server' clone screen as Jade waited for her inevitable doom beneath a meteor the size of the island.

GG: thats right...  
GG: you saw me die in the future.... didn't you?  
TG: yeah  
TG: right up until the end you kept saying you were fine  
TG: like some sorta fuckin badass  
TG: just staring down a fucking meteor the size of a moon with your rifle in hand  
TG; like you were gonna shoot it and it was gonna go all death star  
TG: torpedo down the motherfucking exhaust port  
TG: wrap this shit up kid  
TG: time to go home and get our medals  
TG: none for you fuzzball youre just the copilot  
GG: i did?  
TG: you were ten  
TG: no  
TG: a hundred kinds of cool  
TG: there wasnt a damn thing i could do but watch and talk to you  
TG: but you were smiling  
GG: then at least i went out happy!

 

Davesprite sighed, pressing a hand to his face and rubbing beneath the iShades at his eye. Anyone who might've seen it, might've asked if he was crying, would've got an earful and a 'just somethin in my eye, god damn can't a guy have some privacy' for their trouble. Maybe an agitated CAW if he really flipped his shit, but no, his fecal pile remained undisturbed.

Leaning back on her hands, Jade looked up at the night sky, vestigial fire from the explosion her dreambot caused and stars reflecting on her glasses as a soft breeze played with her touseled hair. Shifting her position a bit, she drew her knees in close and hugged them, playing with the tattered edge of her dress, a frown on her face as she contemplated what to say next; a thought struck, and she unfolded, leaning in to open up the SBURB server window again as Davesprite sent her a message.

TG: at least youre ok though  
GG: hehe yeah  
GG: hey!!!  
GG: youre a birdie!! i can see youuuuu!!!!

 

A smile crept onto his face at that, and Davesprite waved half-heartedly in the direction he assumed her isometric view from her server copy was (and proceeding to wave in precisely the wrong direction, eliciting a giggle from Jade.) He then flexed his wings, spreading them to their full breadth and doing a single short frontflip, which set Jade to clapping happily.

GG: soooooo cooool  
GG: you can fly and do awesome things like shoot lasers now right?  
TG: yeah i guess so  
GG: did i say anything right before the end?  
GG: like something cool

 

Abruptly, Davesprite flicked his head about, feeling oddly paranoid all of a sudden; like he was being watched by someone other than the raven-haired ball of lively cuteness on the server end of his connection. Save for a few imps that were for the most part doing their damndest to stay away from him, there wasn't anyone around. Not a polo-shirted badass or timespace-transcending puppet in sight.

GG: so no?  
TG: no  
TG: you said something  
GG: but you shook your head!!  
TG: i was making sure nobody was gonna come jump me or anything  
TG: i mean damn  
TG: i may be awesome but i dont got eyes in the back of my head or nothin  
GG: hehe  
GG: it's OK, I'll watch over you!  
TG: thanks  
TG: but yeah. you did say something.  
GG: :o youre using periods!!  
GG: what did i say?

 

Jade's attention was entirely on the chat prompt by that point; she didn't see Davesprite slump back against the FOAM MUTANT SMUPPET ENCASED IN AMBER, and slide his iShades off, looking up at the sky. She didn't see the tears welling in his eyes, nor him quickly brushing them away before putting the iShades back on. She glanced over in time to see him withdraw into himself a bit; his slumped shoulders, the wispy sprite-tail curled up underneath him and his wings half-folded in, made her think of a bright-colored bird settled on the branch of a tree... albeit one with a sword protruding from it's chest. After a few moments' discomfort while trying to figure out how to handle having the sword there, he grimaced and yanked the sword out, jamming it into the amber next to him and folding his arms over the hole in his chest.

GG: what did i say???  
GG: cmon dave i wanna know!!!!  
TG: you said you wished we couldve met.  
TG: that you wanted to see me face to face.  
TG: the meteor wasnt even close enough for things to start heating up and you sat there and just started... talking.  
TG: talking about the things you wanted to do with me. the things you wanted to show me.  
TG: what you wanted me to show you.

 

Swallowing the lump in his throat, Davesprite took a deep breath and started explaining one of her first stories, a day in the life of their high-school adventures...


	2. School High

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The first of an indeterminate number of Alternate Universe snippets of a sort, centered mostly around the idea of the possible relations between Dave and Jade in alternate worlds.  
> Universe 1: SBURB has been completed. The children have moved on, and through whatever stroke of genius or luck, are going to the same high school... albeit one with some rather familiar faces...

"Damn, man, why does Prof Clover gotta give us so damn much homework?" Dave groaned aloud, his backpack hanging half-off one shoulder as he walked down one of the many halls in their high school.

Further up the hall, John was pulling some nice-guy bullshit from a movie or something, and had Rose's books tucked under one arm, his own backpack slung low over both shoulders.

She had long ago stopped bothering to argue the point with him whenever he insisted on being a gentleman, and even if John claimed it was just because he wanted to be nice, anyone with a working pair of eyes and some decent social aptitude could tell that he was head over heels for the blonde Lalonde, including the seer herself, who always had that little smile whenever she was talking to him, matched by that perpetual bucktoothed grin that more than a few girls around the school secretly wished were directed at them.

She was the envy of most girls around the school (or so Jade reported), fawned over by the hopeless romantic, even as John was envied by many of the boys for the same smile he received.

Despite Egbert's unexpected growth spurt making him a little bigger than their group, he still managed to look childishly mismatched in khaki pants that were a little too big and a long-sleeved brown shirt screenprinted to look like the top half of Egon Spengler's jumpsuit (complete with sewn-on nametag).

Rose, on the other hand, dressed far more conservatively, a simple pink blouse and black eldritch squiddle-print skirt atop pristine black shoes, a stark contrast to the worn, dust-grayed sneakers John wore.

Dave, longing to break out of his Bro's fashion shadow, wore black slacks and an open red button-shirt over a white tee and black shoes. His aviators were conspicuously absent from his face, tucked into his shirt after an earlier argument over a teacher regarding school uniform policy (third time that week). Emeraldine eyes glared apathetically at the world, rather well rested after dozing lightly last period. 

"Don't mind me, just talkin' to myself back here," he said a little louder, a little more pointed, a little more not-being-noticed by the two chatting about... fuck, he stopped caring around the third sentence when John mentioned something about a hippopotamus. Rose's responses, although beyond intelligent enough to glean the meaning of the conversation, had him as equally unenthused, if only since he could care less about math.

No, his mind was elsewhere, a little telltale bob to his head, that asynchronic patter of a hand tapping against his leg, thumb looped in the top of the pocket. He had the bug again, another new song in his head.

Ever since their success at SBURB, and the subsequent defeat of Jacksperhass Noirlecrowley, he had taken his music in a totally new direction, with live recording work and a little help from one hell of a collaberator, someone who not only could provide some serious fresh jamz but play up his phat beats, alchemizing together a truly formidable beast of fresh beats, phat jamz, and slick cuts, radiating fractal haymakers of pure auditory sex upside the--

"Hey! Hey guys! Wait up! C'mon, guyyys!"

John and Rose were oblivious to the call from further down the hall, but Dave wasn't. His head jerked to one side, and he heel-turned in mid-step, walking a few steps backwards before stopping.

Jade struggled a little to manage carrying two large books, a messenger bag slung at her side, and getting through the crowds beginning to form as a result of other students filing out of their classes intent on getting home. She managed to make it look almost easy, and almost like dancing, her hair and dark blue dress fanning out behind her, her sneakered footwork working quite well to keep her from crashing into anyone.

 

At least, until a hurried brat wearing a yellow shirt with a big bold black 1 on it zipped by, towing another kid in a blue shirt with a 2 on it by the arm; she managed to duck under the first arm, but her foot caught on the leg of the second, and she stumbled forward.

 

Quick as anything, Dave closed the last two feet, reaching out a hand to steady both her and the books, and she smiled at him. Always in the nick of time.

 

"Sorry I took so long! I had a question about the homework and then Mrs. Snowman wanted to know about our project and I got caught up in talking about it and--" Dave's pointed look caused her to pause, and she blushed a little. "Sorry."

Dave chuckled, and adjusted Jade's glasses back up from the end of her nose to the bridge, flicking an imaginary speck of dust from the shoulder of the green-black overshirt she wore and swinging the golden atom pendant he had gotten her for her birthday back down from her shoulder.

"Don't apologize so much, just take a breath once in a while. Talk too much faster and your mouth'll fall off," he joked, turning to see if John and Rose had--

Yep, they were gone. He rolled his eyes, and turned back to her, only to have her face mere inches from his. 

_Bluhfuck._

 She was staring at his eyes, steel-blue eyes boring into green, an intent look on her face; refusing to crack under the scrutiny, he remained still, idly hoping his breath didn't reek of school lunch pizza and apple juice while subtly extending himself to try and make up for the inch and a half of height she had on him (a subject he was still sore about, being the shortest of the four, even if only by a few inches).

 

"What?" He finally asked when she smiled and leaned back out of his two-inch personal bubble, bobbing on her toes a bit with that big cute grin on her face that looked just plain goofy on John but too damn cute on her.

"Just wanted to see your eyes again." She shrugged her shoulders cryptically, and folding her hands with the books together at her front, took a few steps past him, before turning back to look at him in the mostly empty hallyway. "Coming?"

 

Confusion gave way to bemusement, and he stepped up beside her, falling in stride with her easily.

 

"So Miss Snowman asked about the project?" He had affected a bored air, but it didn't fool Jade; she knew he thrived on acceptance and interest from others, and the word of their Music Appreciation teacher was practically golden for him. Her lips curled into a slight smile.

 

"Yeah. I gave her that demo tape you made yesterday. She said she had a few friends who were big in the music business that she wanted to give it to. Said you might know them, they're a group called 'The Midnighters' or something? They do a lot of soft jazz, and stuff, I think. Um, I can't remember--"

"The _Midnight Crew_!?" Jade squeaked as he abruptly whipped her around to face him and gripped her shoulders, causing her to almost drop her books. "She knows the Midnight Crew?" Slightly freaked out by the outburst, she only nodded nervously.

"Y-yeah, that was them. She said they were looking for new talent, and thought that they might be interested in it, so..." Releasing her shoulders, Dave ran a hand through the orange mop of hair on his head, staring at the floor and pacing a bit. "Holy shit..." He muttered.

Jade canted her head to the side. "Are they a big name band?"

Dave cleared his throat, trying to affect his usual unflappable attitude, but was clearly excited by this, and started rifling through his bag.

"They are THE big name band. The Midnight Crew... fuckin'... wow." He pulled a CD jewel case from the depths of his disorganized backpack, handing it to Jade.

On the cover, four shadow-cloaked individuals in suits and hats posed, two looking angry, one apathetic, one vacant. The small angry one appeared to have some sort of 'shadow power' enveloping his hand.

"That's their debut album, 'Drawing Dead'. I got the rest of 'em at home." He began pacing again, albeit faster this time.

"One of the songs we did for that tape was a cover of theirs, Jade. 'The Ballad of Jack Noir'? The one you said made you think of..." his voice faded a bit, not out of fear or reverence but because he was likely talking loud enough to be heard all the way down the hall. "...Jacksperhass?"

Realization dawned, and Jade's attention snapped up from the jewelcase, glasses slipping a bit at the motion; her eyes locked onto Dave's.

"That was the song I played for her the other day on the bass! When that big man wearing the cute heart button was in the class! This is him on the cover!" She excitedly pointed at the taller of the two angry fellows. "He said his boss would be interested in hearing more!"

Jade's excitement was infectious, and Dave was damn near vibrating, torn between maintaining his (presumedly) impeccable cool and dancing about like a giddy boy skylark that had just climbed the first rung of his echeladder.

"_Hearts Boxcars_ liked it? And Miss Snowman liked it?" She nodded emphatically.

"Which means... this may be our big break!" Her smile had broken out into a full-force grin, and so had his.

She bounced on her toes and would've been clapping her hands together if she weren't clutching two books in one hand and the CD case in the other. She liked seeing him this excited, this happy; it was a side of him that very few people ever got to see.

She could see his imagination running wild in his eyes as he ran both hands through his hair, holding it up for a bit before releasing a haggard breath, all pretense at staying cool gone from his mind.

Fuckin' _hell_, the _Midnight Crew_. He hadn't felt this good in... well, ever. He was so happy he could... shit, he could just--

\--and then, for a brief moment, he forgot himself.

Grabbing Jade by the shoulders again, he pulled her close and kissed her, hard and fast, almost before either of them realized what he'd done, a flash of light and feeling and taste; time seemed to stand still for the moment, Jade's eyes involuntarily closing as she leaned into the kiss, both of them only parting when air became an issue.

The look of surprise and shock on Jade's face mirrored Dave's own, and for a brief moment they could only stare at each other, separated by but a few inches. A blush spread quickly on Jade's face; Dave paled slightly.

_Thudunk-clakattatat_  
"FFFff_ffuck!_"

He hopped back, instinct demanding that he not put pressure on the foot that had just received the full weight of not one, but two rather heavy school books and causing him to do a sort of half-limp, biting his lower lip.

"Ohmygod I'm sorry I didn't mean to do that, I just-- y-you startled me, and I-- oh geez, I'm sorry, I--" Jade's stammering nearly drowned out a pair of titters from further up the hall, but not enough for Dave to not notice.

His head snapped up, and pain was overtaken with rage at the sight of Rose and John standing there, the latter holding the camera, and the former holding a Polaroid photo of the damning evidence. He advanced a single step, malice in his eyes, and both John and Rose took off running, the royally pissed Knight of Time in hot pursuit.

Sighing, Jade rolled her eyes and knelt to retreive the books and CD case, standing with a huff and starting off after them, her smiling lips still tingling a bit as she brushed her fingertips against them.

"Every time..."

 

\---  
MEANWHILE, BACK AT THE RANCH...  
\---

_PKOW!_  
"HOOOO-EEE! That there imp done been kilt GUUUD!"  
"Darn tootin'! Mah grampaw tawt me how ter shoot plenny fine!"

\---  
OH SHIT, MY BAD. BACK ON LOHAC...  
\---  
\--- turntechGodhead [TG] continued pestering gardenGnostic[GG] ---

TG: so yeah  
TG: you basically started going on about us all being in high school  
TG: like it was just a natural progression that we would all live in the same neighborhood  
TG: or something  
GG: awww!!!  
GG: i thought it was cute!  
GG: but whos the midnight crew??  
TG: some guys from a webcomic  
TG: called ms paint adventures  
TG: john reads it damn near religiously  
TG: or he did  
GG: webcomic characters?  
TG: before all this crazy-ass sburb shit happened  
TG: yeah  
TG: a bunch of guys on the forums made up music  
TG: like they were the actual midnight crew  
TG: i have the album  
TG: its pretty cool  
GG: ill have to listen to it sometime!!  
GG: after school i mean....  
GG: when were taking a break from making phat jamz  
GG: hehehehe  
TG: heh  
TG: yeah i guess so  
GG: you said there were other stories?  
GG: what else were they?  
TG: well  
TG: i suppose i have time  
TG: waiting for the other me  
TG: there was one about us being gangsters  
TG: or something  
TG: not like  
TG: badass mofo street thugz  
TG: depression era mobsters  
TG: running a nightclub or something  
TG: to be honest it sounded a bit like a midnight crew fanfic  
TG: but with us as the main characters  
GG: oooh!  
TG: she also told me about a dream she had once  
TG: about us being on an adventure  
GG: were on an adventure now silly!  
TG: like in the jungle  
TG: some real indiana jones shit  
TG: like if your planet turned out to be the land of forest and earth  
TG: or something like that  
GG: like my grampa!  
GG: that would be fun!  
TG: yeah  
TG: anyway which one do you want to hear first  
TG: there were one or two others  
TG: we kinda talked for a while  
GG: hmmm....


	4. Buccaneers of the Disputed Stretch of Water

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Adventure on the High Seas! Captain Strider awakens to find himself in an unfamiliar cabin, and wracks his memory to figure out what happened.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter was originally snipped into three parts, to better fit with the forum format. It's presented here in its' original, unsnipped form; for reference, each === indicates where the segments were divided.
> 
> Part two was originally posted under the title:  
> "The Impermanence of Wishes: What Could Have Been, Chapter Four, Buccaneers of the Disputed Stretch of Water, Part Two (With a Vengeance).  
> Troll Johnny Depp would've been pleased.

Rocking.

Creaking.

That damned creaking. Loud and long, right next to his head.

What was making that noise? Why did it feel like there were midgets tap-dancing in his skull?

One eye fluttered open to pitch black; the other followed suit, but had a little more luck in the realm of vision. Above his head, some six feet away, were wood slats and a metal brace, some sort of curved wooden strut. Memories washed forth from the ether, and he recalled, vaguely, being in his cabin but one day ago. He was poring over the manifest, reading up on what all he had been contracted to bring aboard. His bosun shouted the alarm; by the time he reached the deck, the evening light of the full moon was blocked out by the shadowy sails of death itself.

He considered himself lucky; when that black-hulled ship pulled alongside his own, the _Sweet Catch_, not a blade or musket, but an offer, was extended his way: a simple job, to acquire goods at port on the mainland, and deliver them to the isle of Rana. Three days of sailing, and recompense akin to three months' work would be his. The only caveat: the goods, encased in crates, were to be left unexamined-- a simple matter for one who commanded a ship of imps; the little blighters could be scared straight with nary a thought. 

Even after signing the contract, and watching that ebon ship drift away in the night, he found not one piece of his current cargo missing; no unexpected additions, either. The bosun suggested he consider it providence; the swabbie warned that foul deeds were afoot. He was tempted to side with the swabbie on this one.

One didn't do business with the crew of the _Midnight Sail_ without making certain one's personal affects were thoroughly nailed down, after all.

But that mattered not, he determined, bringing his thoughts to the present again. A brief examination told him he was still very much intact; his right eye was not damaged, but merely covered by a large black hat with a thick green frill-- almost feminine in its' garity. Sitting up, he found himself clad not in his usual black doublet and red trousers, but a pristine white shirt and black breeches, with a red sash about his waist. His flaming red hair had even been combed thoroughly. Who the hell did that sort of thing? He liked having it mussed, and promptly righted it with a quick touseling.

The room he was in was not his own cabin, but a cabin it was; in one corner sat a sizable wardrobe, in another a table with several papers and inkpots strewn across it, and in the center of the cabin, a sizable, ornate table sat, adorned with a bowl of fruit and rather opulent tablewear. The bed he was situated on was like none he'd ever seen; sizable, and plush, as soft as clouds and such a bright shade of blue it seemed as if someone had torn the noon sky down for use as a coverlet. This was either the cabin of a pirate of some immense wealth, or of a queen.

Queens... as if he hadn't had enough dealing with the sort. If it wasn't that blue-blooded bitch, Vriska the Eight-Eyed, it was his erstwhile sister, the one the people of Rana called the Witch, and whom he knew more personally as Madame Lalonde. One liked to steal his cargo, the other his money; between the two, the fact that he still had enough money to justify not turning pirate was an absolute mystery. 

He still owed Constable Egbert a sizable penance for the loss of his precious 'daughter' Casey to the conniving ways of the spider-obsessed pirate. Not his fault the kid was so taken with the antics of her... Helmsman? Bosun? Swabbie? Whatever the hell that Tavros fellow was. Two peg legs and all smiles, at least until he got those ridiculous horns of his stuck in the rigging again while trying to entertain the child. He couldn't bear to tear young Casey away from her new friend, and besides, Vriska still owed him for that time back in the port that he covered for her 'accidental' sinking of Lieutenant Vantas' _Blood Feud_. She was due to return Casey in a week, providing the runt didn't decide she wanted to be a pirate.

Forcing his thoughts to the matter at hand again, he jiggled the handle of the cabin door ineffectually, glaring at the ornate brasswork. It seemed he was a prisoner after all. But a prisoner of who? Rifling through the papers on the desk, he thought perhaps he might figure out a clue. The only thing he found were a number of maps of the waters in and around the Alternian Isles, maps of Nama's coast, the mainland, and even a few maps of the Far East. Many of the maps were annotated in different writing styles; a few even had symbols he'd seen only on the papers belonging to those who came from the East themselves. Who did this ship belong to, anyway?

He was beginning to remember the night before... like a story playing out in his own mind.

His imps had finished loading the crates the Seafaring Shipmaster of the _Midnight Sail_ had specified, and were packing back onto the _Sweet Catch_ when a long-haired young lass dressed in bright green breeches and a loose white men's blouse skipped up, barefoot and cheerful, saluted him smartly, and jabbed a hand out towards him in greeting, an enthusiastic "Top of the morning to ye!" babbling forth across her bucktoothed smile as she quickly righted the round-rimmed glasses atop her nose.

To say that she vaguely resembled his friend the Constable was to say that the ocean was a tad damp; he had half a mind to ask her if their parents were bucktoothed as well, but held back, giving her hand a halfhearted shake as he sized her up behind his own tinted glasses. With his free hand, he fished a pocketwatch from his red waistcoat and gave it a quick glance.

"It's ten of the evening, but I suppose with such a sunny disposition it's hard to tell night from day," he said flatly, and almost felt like kicking himself when her grin faltered a bit. She pitched forward, squinting to try and look through his custom darkened glasses, and he had to fight every urge screaming in his mind to keep his eyes on her face as that loose blouse flapped about.

"How can you tell? Those things are so dark you might as well be blind!" Her words had a distinct lilt to them, both from humor and the unmistakable accent of one who had spent many a day on the decks of a ship. The deep tan of her skin (what of it he saw under the rim of his glasses as she peered at him) echoed that sentiment.

Taking an uneasy step back, he gave her a mighty frown, one that had withered the most stalwart of his imps on many an occasion. She didn't seem impressed. "If you haven't business with me, I have my own matters to attend to, thankyouverymuch. Good evening." Her protests and attempts at getting his attention fell on deaf ears as he clomped his way up the boarding ramp of his ship.

"You're Captan Strider. You sank your own ship, the _Plush Rump_, off the coast of the mainland a year ago, right?" Her words rang in his ears like a gunshot, and he snapped about, almost losing his footing as he did. She stood with her hands folded behind her back, her long black hair gently waving in the wind behind her. For a brief moment, his rage abated. She was rather fetching, despite the unflattering shirt that sagged off one shoulder. He quickly shook his head, dispelling his haze and slapping a scowl on his face, opening his mouth for a retort.

"That's what they say, anyway, but you didn't really do it, right?"

His jaw clicked shut, and opened again, chewing the air as he tried to form words. When they came, he was quick to make certain there wasn't anyone sentient present; save for his imps awaiting his command and this strange girl, there wasn't a soul in sight.

"How do you know about that?" He managed to keep the quiver out of his voice. The grin on her face became a full-on smile, and she took a few steps forward.

"I met your brother. The other Captain Strider, the real captain of the _Plush Rump_." Her words felt like cannon shot striking him in the heart. His brother was alive? He shook his head. He watched him take a grapnel fired from a cannon dead in the stomach, saw him pull the rope hard enough to dislodge the cannon it was attached to from the side of the black ship they were being attacked by. Watched as his brother doffed that trademark sideways tricorn of his and leapt from the ship into the black waters below.

"There's no way you could've met him. He's dead," Strider growled, "Dead at the bottom of the god-damned sea." He stomped down the plank again, ready to snatch her by the shirt and demand she explain herself, but her silent, knowing smile, that simple nod, stopped him cold.

"I know. He told me. The ship that attacked you that night was the _Midnight Sail_. That cargo you have there was what the _Plush Rump_ was hauling the night you were attacked," she said, that enigmatic smile never leaving her face. Noting his slackjawed expression, she giggled. "You don't really know what you're hauling, do you? The _Midnight_ is going to steal your cargo halfway and blow you out of the water."

Frowning, Captain Strider shook his head, and turned away. "This... this is a load of horse shit. You're just... just an illusion, just a sign I had one too many swigs of grog, an underdone potato or a fucking mirage created by my subconscious or whatever the hell my sister would call it." He threw his hands into the air and started stomping back up the ramp. 

"My brother is dead, you didn't speak to him, we sank the ship that attacked us, those crates are probably full of some damn plates or illegal cannon or some shit and I'm going to deliver it to the port at Nama and be done with it, period, the end, and they all lived happily ever god-damned after!" He punctuated the end of his tirade by whipping about at the top of the ramp and jabbing a finger at her. 

"Whatever you are, go haunt some other drunk bastard!" With that, he motioned for the imps to pull up the ramp; with practiced precision, his hell-spawned crew set tack, and the _Sweet Catch_ began to drift from the port.

Smiling to herself, the black-haired girl shrugged. "Can't say I didn't warn you." Bobbing on her feet, she skipped back down the dock, humming a shanty tune to herself.

===

Strider sighed, rubbing his eyes benea--wait, where were his shaded glasses? Only then did the realization hit that, along with his personal clothes, the darkened glasses his late brother had almost bent over backwards to acquire, a near mirror image to his own, were missing, the bright green eyes of the Strider bloodline naked to the open air. They were all he had of his brother left, a pair of pointed reminders of the mistakes he made and a personal vendetta against the pure black ship that sunk the _Plush Rump_.

His hand tightened around one of the maps on the table. Someone took his glasses. That someone was going to be choking on steel... as soon as he figured out where the hell his sword went.

Examining the table, he picked up one of the fruit, quirking an eyebrow at the puzzling sight of a smiling face inked on the bright red surface in careful detail. It appeared whoever this pirate was, they liked their fruit vapidly cheerful. After a few moments' picking, he decided on an orange and dug his fingernails into the navel, tearing a strip clean through the face on the side, brief amusement striking as he imagined the ink smile on the side changing to a look of abject terror as the flesh of the fruit was torn away.

Terror... the sight of his imps, petrified with fear...

He shook his head, frowning, and popped a wedge of the orange in his mouth, chewing slowly as he focused on bringing up the memories of the night before.

The _Plush Rump_ hadn't been a very big ship, only a small clipper that served well for delivering goods from the mainland to the Alternian Isles, or from isle to isle; she wasn't built for long voyages. Neither was the _Sweet Catch_, which made sense, as he had his own ship built as close to the original as possible. 

With the aid of his sister's dark prognostications-- she preferred to call herself a 'seer', but the term 'witch' really did suit her better-- he was able to pull a cadre of small bird-imps from the aether, bright orange and red creatures, some bearing swords through their chests, others jester hats or princess hats, and everything in between. They were eager to serve, which was odd considering the level of humiliation most imps had to suffer before being pressed into service.

With her help, he had a crew for his ship, and thanks to Constable Egbert's connections, the means to acquire a ship; the _Sweet Catch_ wasn't the largest by far, but she was a fast ship, and between that and the fact that his crew was paid not in cash but continued existence in the world, his rates were lower. His ship was one of the best-known of the Isles, almost better known than the _Midnight Sail_ herself.

The fact that certain people made a point of pilfering his hold on a regular basis didn't seem to deter most of his clients.

He could remember the time that estranged noble with a broken horn and his mechanical 'service-woman' demanded passage on his ship; he'd seemed to know Captain Vriska quite well, and had actually managed to scare her off by threatening, of all things, to hug her. Judging by the damage he did to the cabin door the morning he stormed out demanding to know where his service-woman had been taken, Strider was certain he didn't want to be hugged by him either. Last he had heard of the fellow, his sister had worked her dark magics to instill the soul of a long-dead servant into the machine, and the two were scheduled to be _married_.

Then there was the time that strange dark woman paid him almost triple his standard full-hold fee just so he would ship her and her strange green-clad friends from Rana to one of the outlying islands. One of his imps turned up dead from that excursion, and the broad-eyed one simply pulled out a puppet, stuck a needle in it, and pulled it out again, and his imp was back up and running about like a chicken with its' head cut off.

Strange happenings were common among the Alternian Isles. That was a given. He'd been narrowly missed by so many ships over the years he barely even blinked when ships would pass so close he could touch the other's hull. That rainy evening when the crescent moon illuminated the white-green hull of a ship he'd never seen before through the clouds, somehow sailing so close to the _Catch_ that it seemed like they'd been lashed together, he hadn't even blinked. 

He was, however, a little more startled when some twenty-odd cannon had extended themselves from the side of the ship and began firing into the wet darkness, tearing holes through his rigging and blasting his mizzen to smithereens, one might excuse him for, as his brother would've put it, 'flipping his shit'. 

A few quick orders and the imps were below deck securing the cargo; he had a grapnel handy in moments, and up it went, but an impeccably-timed shell from one of the larger cannon sent the grapnel pinging off into the darkness. He had barely a moment to realize he had wrapped it around his arm before it felt like it was being yanked from his shoulder, and he was pulled halfway across the deck. 

He felt the grapnel hit something, felt the line go slack, and gave it an experimental tug; whatever was on the other end abruptly picked up the slack and tugged _back_, albeit a good deal harder than he had, and for a second time his arm felt the strain of a mighty pull. This time, however, the momentum was such that he found himself airborne, and for a brief, fear-streaked moment, his thoughts strayed to his brother. Perhaps it was a Strider's fate to go down on rainy evenings attatched to grapnels. When his face smacked into black wood paneling and the rope pulled taut against his grip, he was jolted from his reverie.

His boots slipping on the wet wood, he nontheless began to climb the rope of his grapnel, but he didn't get far before someone yanked it up with gusto, and he found himself dangling before a mountain of a man, black flesh like shadow before him. This close, he could see an almost chitinous shell, with so many segments allowing for expansion of a frowning sort of mouth that he half-expected the brute to open it wide and snap his head off in a single bite. Dim recognition struck in time to that familiar voice to echo over the sounds of cannonfire and splintering wood.

"Captain Strider! Such a pleasure to see you here." The voice didn't sound pleased, and indeed, the Seafaring Shipmaster bore an angry scowl. Behind him stood a tall, dapper man wearing a brocade doublet with a diamond mark on the left breast and a deacon's hat, and a stumpy fellow clad in festive rags, a pair of large hoop earrings dangling from God-knew where on either side of his head and cradling a far-too-large belaying pin like an infant. Strider tugged his arm free and landed on the rail of the ship, his boots hitching around the rail and, for a moment, giving him purchase on the wet wood. He pointed angrily at the Shipmaster.

"What is the meaning of this? You attack my ship in the dead of night?" His accusatory growl was met with a sneer. "What, you didn't know? That's my cargo you're carrying. I'm taking it back," the Shipmaster said simply, folding his arms over his chest. Strider yanked the contract he had signed from his coat pocket. "You wanted it delivered to Rana! I'm delivering it! So what the hell--"

"I never said you were going to make the delivery, only that I wanted you to head for the isle." The Shipmaster grinned, a sharp-toothed look that reminded Strider all too much of Vriska's favorite expression. "Just like your brother, always reading too much ahead. What fun would life be if I didn't leave your ship a shambles and take the cargo for myself? Although someone seems to be trying to help you this time around." Giving a dismissive wave of his hand, the Shipmaster turned away. "Bosun, send him to visit his brother. Perhaps they can share notes."

Strider drew his sword, or started to, but the Heavyset Bosun's massive hand clamped down over the blade, and a loud _snap_ precluded half of his cutlass dropping to the deck. Before he had a chance to react, that same hand gripped him like a bottle, and with a heave, he was airborne. The Shipmaster glanced at the Devilish Deacon and nodded, and with a wave of his hand, the cannon on the _Midnight Sail_ began to return fire towards the sizable ship on the other side of the _Sweet Catch_.

Glancing down at the Colorful Drudge, the Shipmaster frowned, and opened his mouth to ask why--  
"I'm a pirate!"  
His mouth clicked shut. With an annoyed sigh, he left the smiling Drudge and started for the cabin. He was going to need a good stiff drink.

===

For the second time that rainy night, Captain Strider found himself airborne, although at the very least this time it wasn't on the end of his own grapnel. He struck down on the _Catch_'s deck, skidding across the wood and cracking his head against a barrel; shouting an expletive into the cacophany, he got up, rubbing the sore spot and looking around. 

His imps were nowhere to be found, but that was a given, considering their orders were to hide below deck and make certain nobody got to the cargo. 

Making a mad dash for the hatch, his instincts warned him of an incoming shell, and he performed a deft front flip, a low-flying cannonball skipping across the deck of his ship and barely missing his head as he dropped into the hold, landing unceremoniously on two (thankfully swordless) imps. Getting up, he looked around at their frightened faces.

Imps or not, they trusted him to lead them; summoned spirits or not, they had served him faithfully. What sort of captain would he be if he didn't protect them? Whoever the white ship belonged to, it was helping him, and he knew his own ship wouldn't be able to take that many cannon strikes before it went down.

"What're you waiting for? Get those damn crates open! If there's cannon in them, point them at the starboard wall, load and fire! Damn the walls! If that bastard is going to sink us, we're not going down without taking him out!" Given a sense of purpose, the imps quickly set to work cracking open the crates. It was only a matter of moments before the side of one of the larger crates came crashing down.

Out spilled a sizable load of small ebon canines of the Scottish variety. Strider didn't even have to look to know the truth: his hold was rife with contraband! Another crate revealed garnet heart-stones; yet another, the golden-orange hue of candiamond corn. One of the smallest crates even bore a dozen ruby frog statuettes.   
Strider scowled. This alone would condemn him to death. Looking up at his crew, he sighed, and gave a longsuffering chuckle, which slowly morphed into an all-out fit of guffawing.

The imps glanced about amongst themselves. Since when did the captain laugh? He rarely even smiled. The crew was mildly put off by the sudden amusement their captain was showing as he ran a hand through his hair and laughed long and hard; a few of them gave experimental titters, and in a few moments, despite the splintering of wood around them, the whole ship, captain and crew, was laughing.

As the laughter died down, Strider wiped tears from beneath his glasses, and strode confidently toward the deck. One of his imps, a winged jester-hat he had designated his helmsman, gave his sleeve a tug. Turning, he raised an eyebrow at the imp. "What?"

"Um, captain Strider, we, um... why were we laughing, sir? Our hull's full of contraband and the _Midnight Sail_ is tearing us apart," the helmsman pointed out, his words punctuated by the sound of another cannon shell punching a hole in the side of the ship.

Strider shook his head, and dug in his coat pocket, procuring a small stone glyph; the 'contract' of sorts that bound his imps to his service. The Helmsman's eyes widened at the sight of it.

"Everything's gone to hell in a handbasket, Helmsman. Whether the _Midnight_ sinks us or we survive and deliver the cargo, we're all damned. If we're going to go down, I'd rather we took the bastards with us, wouldn't you?" Strider's words were calm, and confident. One of the other imps quickly spoke up.

"But we have no cannon, cap'n! How're we supposed to fight 'em?" The look that he received in return chilled him to the bone. Well, if amber imps had bones, anyway.

"Remember the other order we're delivering? Twenty one barrels of gunpowder for the Queen, aye? I'm certain if we set this ship ablaze, that'd make for one hell of an effective scuttle." He gripped the glyph with both hands, and easily snapped it in half. The imps felt the binding magic fade immediately, and all eyes were on the Captain.

"You're all relieved of duty. You've done much for me over the past three years, and I thank you all for your service. Do me this one duty, and then get yourselves out of here: light the hold. Use whatever you can. I'll steer the ship into the_Midnight Sail_, and she'll go down to the bottom of the sea." He began to climb the ladder to the deck; halfway up, he stopped, and turned, saluting the crew. 

"It's been real... well, it's been real. That's all there is to say on the matter." With that, he finished climbing, leaving the imps to their decision.

Striding confidently across the deck, ignoring the explosions of cannon shell all around him, the steady, rhythmic pounding of the white ship's cannon firing above him, the whistle of splintered wood zipping past his head, Captain Strider took the helm and gave her a deft pull, the ship whipping about starboard and pulling away from the galleon. Pointing it towards the _Midnight Sail_, he smiled to himself as he heard the fizzle-pop of the imps dropping out of this plain of existence below; watched flames belch up from holes in the deck as the black galleon loomed ever closer.

Gripping the wheel, Strider began to sing a shanty tune, long and loud, one he had been taught by his brother. 

_Lo! And Away! Give me a day,  
If I can be cap'n and you can belay,  
When tables are turned and night becomes day,  
There lies my beloved, there I hope to stay!_

He never reached the second verse. He took a deep breath, and it was expelled in a deep _whoosh_ as something struck him, hard, across the back of the head, and blackness reigned.

\---

Strider frowned down at the remnants of the two oranges he had eaten, lost in reverie over what had occurred. So he had tried to sink the _Midnight Sail_ by ramming her with his own flaming ship. But here he was, alive and well, albeit with a headache the size of Port Regal. He had to assume the white-green ship that had come to his aid was where he was now; the color of the floorboards and walls, he supposed, were a large enough giveaway. He'd've kicked himself for not noticing that sooner, but he didn't feel like putting forth the effort. If anyone ever asked him, he'd just say he knew it all along.

Standing from the table, he walked to the door again, and tried the handle; when it didn't give, he took a step back, ready to give it a mighty kick, when his brain jumpstarted and he realized that the locking mechanism was on the _inside_ of cabin doors, not the _outside_. Sure enough, he need merely twist a latch-lock, and the door swung open. He slapped a palm to his face, then for good measure, brought the other hand to bear. Apparently, all it took to make him an idiot was a good swat on the head.

Swinging the door wide, he adjusted the white shirt and strode out with as much dignity as a complete idiot could muster, closing the door behind himself. Sure enough, the morning sun beat down on white-washed decks, green trim running the length of the galleon, which seemed, despite having been in combat just a night prior, pristine. The waves were calm, and land seemed to be nowhere in sight-- as was any sort of crew that might run the collosal galleon. Peering over the side, he gave a low whistle at the long drop to the waters below.

_Lo! And Away! Give me a day,  
If I can be cap'n and you can belay,  
When the tables are turned and the night becomes day,  
There lies my beloved, where I hope to stay!_

A female voice, clear as a bell, singing the song his brother had written mere days before the _Plush Rump_ sank! Strider looked about quickly, but seeing nobody, idly wondered if he was losing his mind. On a whim, he answered the voice, raising his own.

_The captain is king, on the waves of the sea,  
And the law of the water is given to he,  
But for one day, when the crew cries 'Mutiny',  
And the rule of a ship is given to me!_

He wasn't sure, at first, if the owner of the voice had heard him. Perhaps he'd startled whoever was singing. He saw nobody at the helm, couldn't see any sign of life-- but when the voice sang the chorus again, his attention was drawn up.

_Lo! And Away! Give me a day,  
If I can be cap'n and you can belay,  
When the tables are turned and the night becomes day,  
There lies my beloved, where I hope to stay!_

High up in the rigging, a tanned girl clad in a loose men's blouse and bright green trousers sat on a crossbrace, smiling down at him betwixt her bare feet. A pair of large hoop earrings dangled from her ears, the morning light glinting off both them and the frames of her glasses. With practiced ease, she hopped down from her seat and swung down from the rigging, legs dangling beneath her as she monkey-climbed down most of the rigging, dropping to the deck and hopping upright again, her long black hair fanning about from the act as she folded her hands behind her back.

Now that he saw her in a proper light, he vaguely remembered a time long ago, when he used to shirk his studies and go gallivanting with the precocious grand-daughter of a seafaring nobleman. He was a man unmatched in the ways of the musket; and so too was his grand-daughter. It was she who inspired him to seek a life on the sea, searching for his old friend. Could this girl really be...?

She seemed to be waiting for something, bobbing on the balls of her feet, an expectant look on her face, that same small bucktoothed smile from years ago. He squinted slightly, a suspicious look. 

"I do know you, don't I?" She nodded enthusiastically, bouncing slightly, and the shirt slipped slightly on her shoulder. He seemed to recall that happening a lot back then, too, and out of sheer habit, reached up and righted it with a twitch. She giggled like a child, merely serving to cement the memory.

"...Jade. Jade Harley." She squealed like a dolphin and he abruptly had a face-full of unladylike lady as she practically leaped on him in a hug. Sputtering, he initially attmpted to pry her off, but her insistant hold on him just tightened, and he eventually gave in, returning the hug. Apparently satisfied, she dislodged from him and went bounding toward the helm of the ship, leaving him clueless as she hopped up and walked along the rail.

"Wait, wait, wait, where are you going? Whose ship is this, anyway?" He started after her, trying to ignore the warm tingly feeling left behind from her hug and focus on the matter at hand. She stopped at the top of the rail and whipped about, grinning down at him. "My ship, dummy." She spun forward again, hopping down and grabbing the wheel; with a far-too-cheerful 'WHEE!' she spun it hard starboard, and he almost fell over as the ship lurched. Righting himself, he took the stairs two at a time and grabbed the spinning wheel, uttering a yelp of pain as one of the handles cracked against his knuckles.

"If this is your ship," Strider fumed, "Where is the crew?" She raised an eybrow at him, and then abruptly leaned in, her face inches from his; he refused to be thrown by her abrupt invasion of his personal space, and held his ground, staring right back into her large brown eyes. 

"So greeeeeen," she breathed, and he rolled his eyes and gave her a light shove. "You've seen 'em before. Answer the question," he grumbled, unsure of why he could never stay angry with her. Her answer was to bring two fingers to her lips and blow hard, a sharp whistle ringing out and causing him to clamp his hands over his ears. A few moments passed, and he looked around. "Wha--"

He was flat on his back before he could even blink. Stars burst in his vision and he tried to free his arms from whatever was weighing him down; as his vision cleared, a massive white wolfhound that almost seemed to flicker with energy came into view, growling down at him. Jade was quick to pull the beast off of him.

"Becquerel! He's a friend! No! Bad!" The wolfhound whimpered like a kicked puppy, and she sighed, hugging it tightly. "I can't stay mad at you. Good dog, best friend." She scratched behind the animal's ears as Strider got up and dusted himself off. 

"You mean to tell me this thing's your crew?" He jabbed a finger at the animal, and she nodded, resting her chin on the wolfhound's head. It was at that point he realized it was large enough that sitting, it came up to her chest. Between that and the energetic glow, he had to assume it was of an ethereal nature, like the imps. 

"Suppose that makes as much sense as anything else. Where are we?" He glanced about, but they were alone on an ocean of blue. Not a ship nor land in sight. The noncommital 'eeenh' noise that responded to him wasn't much help either.

"I don't know how to read maps," Jade admitted after a moment, looking down at the deck. "Bec has always steered the ship where it needed to go. I just live on it and do business where I can. So, I suppose Bec's the captain?" She perked up, and released her choke-hold on the animal, which abruptly _fitz_ed from its' spot on the deck to the aft railing, sniffing the air as she bounced up to Strider.

"But _you're Captain Strider_, so _you_ can be the _captain_ of this _ship!_" She punctuated each word with a playful poke, and by the third poke he was squirming to avoid her invading finger. Becquerel's head snapped about, and the wolfhound growled at them; Jade growled right back, although hers was more cute than menacing. "Yarr, it be mutiny all right!" She rasped at the wolfhound. Pressing a hand to his temple, Strider sighed. 

"Stop calling me by my last name, please. It makes me think you're talking to my brother." He opened his eyes, and settled an accusatory look at her. "You said before that you had talked to my brother. How?"

Jade closed her eyes for a moment and shook her head, smiling; opening them again, she reached into her shirt and pulled out a think envelope, holding it out to him. Resisting the urge to ask how she kept from losing it with such a loose wardrobe, he opened the letter, recognizing his brother's neat, sharp handwriting. On the third page were the lyrics to the shanty he had written.

"I never said I talked to him, Dave. Just that he told me what happened." She seemed to lose all of that bounce, pep and cheer all at once, walking slowly up to stand next to him and read over his shoulder. He ignored it (and the sudden realization that she was taller than him-- god, he was slow today) and started reading.

Yo!

I know this comes as a bit of a shock. You probably are wondering how your dog got this letter, or why I sent it to you and not David. I trust you know who I am, otherwise you wouldn't be reading this. The fact is, I'm dead.

Well, at the time that you're reading this, I am. Dead as a doornail. Dunno how I went out, but I hope it was badass. I looked at the cargo I was to be shipping from Port Regal on the mainland to the Isle of Nama. I thought it was a bit suspicious that the dockmaster was so quick to get a signature and leave when I was picking up the cargo; now I know why.

Contraband.

Lots of it.

For whatever reason, the _Midnight Sail_ has been pulling tricks like this for some time now, if what I've been hearing in the taverns is true. Respectable, fast merchant ships are being approached by the Midnight mid-voyage, and the Shipmaster offers you a contract. 

Pick up some crates on the mainland, deliver 'em to Nama, and you get paid loads for barely any work. Seems like a sweet deal, but they never make it that far. 

Every boat that's taken up the offer wound up sinking, and the cargo was never found. The only one that didn't was the _Blood Feud_, and that was because crabby ol' Cap'n Vantas' ship wound up burning down in the harbor before it could take on the cargo. 

Some say it was an omen, but I know better; Vriska the Eight-Eyed was in town, and she seemed... worried about Vantas. I have a feeling she scuttled his ship for his own protection. When I asked her about it, she just smacked me with her mug and demanded I buy her a round in apology.

When the _Midnight Sail_ approached me, I took the offer. Figured the _Plush Rump_ was fast enough, had strong enough cannon, we could make the delivery before whoever kept sinking the ships caught us.

As I write this, the Midnight Sail is hot on our heels and taking potshots at us, trying to put holes in our sails. She's been the one hitting the ships all along.

My brother will survive; I know he will, because he's a fighter. He has a destiny to fulfill, even if none of us know what it is. I want you to help him on his way.

Pull a few strings. Talk your brother into getting him a ship. I want my brother to be the best damn captain on the seas. I want him to be ten times the mariner every grog-swilling buffoon in Nama's ports combined could ever hope to be. I know you can do that for him. Hell, I know he wants to. I remember when he used to sneak off to play pirates with you back in the day.

He'll eventually be visited by the Midnight Sail, I'm sure of it. He'll take the job, because I know he wants the recognition. The only ship to succeed where others have failed. The fastest ship in the waters. He'll be a cocky twit and try to get himself killed, and I want you to save him. Do whatever you have to. Knock the shit out of him, he can take it.

I want him to know that these bastards mean business. I want him to know that until someone brings them down, that God damned ship is going to be blowing people out of the water. I know he's not King of the Do-Gooder Brigade, but I also know that he's always wanted to be well-known, to be somebody important.

What better way than to be the one to kill the Crew of the _Midnight Sail_?

The One and Only,

Captain **_(*smudge*)_** Strider

P.S. Wrote this little shanty yesterday with my brother's help. Thought you might like it.  
P.P.S. I busted my ass to get these new glasses for him, since I figure he would want to make a name for himself and wearing my old pointy ones wouldn't help. Make sure he gets them.  
P.P.P.S. Don't let him see this. Have your dog eat it or something.   
P.P. Whatever, Dave, if you're reading this, you suck.

  
Dave folded the letter back up and slid it back into the envelope, handing it back to her wordlessly; walking to the aft railing, he leaned on it and cradled his head in his hands. It was a lot to take in. His brother knew he'd get his own ship. He knew he'd take the job for the _Midnight Sail_. He even knew he was going to try to take her down with him. For much of his life, he'd been trying to pull out of his brother's shadow, yet he'd just played into his expectations all along.

A pair of arms slipped over his shoulders, and he jumped in surprise as Jade rested her chin on his head. Sighing, he slumped on the rail, silent for a moment. When he did speak, it was a listless deadpan.

"Why did you let me read that," He mumbled, more a flat statement than a question. "He said not to let me see it." She shook her head, and hugged a little tighter, not saying anything. He didn't have the urge or willpower to try to push her away. It didn't matter anyway, they were likely the only people for miles. Not like his reputation was on the line. 

Fuck, the idea alone pissed him off. What reputation? As far as anyone knew, he'd gone down with the ship. The _Midnight Sail_ was probably preparing to take down another poor shmuck that very moment. He was just another footnote in the story of the _Midnight Sail_, just another fish that took the bait and got a hook through the gills as a prize. Congratulations, you win a watery grave!

But he hadn't. He was the one that got away. He was the one who knew their trick. He may not have spent more than a few seconds on the decks of the _Midnight_, but what he had seen was enough. The weirdo in the deacon's hat practically screamed 'magic user'. The fact that the ship's cannon didn't start firing until he did that hand-wavey thing was just more proof. That meant the only people on the ship were probably those four. Take their magic away and the ship would be dead in the water... the thoughts were coming thick and fast, and a plan was coalescing in his mind's eye.

Jade closed her eyes and smiled as she felt Dave's slumped position shift a little beneath her. He suddenly wasn't so listless, and she could feel his shoulders square under her arms. She stood, practically pulling him upright, and ignored his grumbled complaint, allowing him to step away from her. He started to pace, boot-heels thunking decisively on the deck.

"So what's our course, Captain?" She folded her hands behind her back again, awaiting his response with bated breath. By the wheel, Becquerel sat up, tail thumping lightly on the deck.

Nodding to himself, Dave whipped about to address the two of them. "We're going to Nama. We need a crew, and I know just the people for it." He jabbed a finger at Becquerel. 

"Set sail and chart the course!" The wolfhound nodded and _fitz_ed out of sight; almost immediately, the main sail unfurled, billowing in the wind. Turning to Jade, Dave allowed himself a small grin, not the crazed, psychotic thing his old crew had seen, but a confident quirk of the lips. 

"If you're makin' me Captain, I suppose that makes you First Mate. If you have any complaints, voice 'em now." She shook her head, smiling brightly at him; nodding, he strode to the wheel, and gripped it as Becquerel reappeared. At a glance from him, the canine barked once, an ethereal, hollow sound, and assumed a pointing position to the south-east; Captain Dave Strider swung the wheel hard to port, and the ship's compass wheeled to match. 

A warm sea wind kicked up behind them (the dog's doing, he was certain) and the ship was quickly underway, leaving him squinting into the morning sun. Before he had a chance to ask what happened of the glasses mentioned in the letter, a pair of rounded dark lenses fell over his vision, and he half-turned to look at Jade, who just smiled at him with that same bucktoothed grin. Nodding, he turned his gaze forward again.

"Shit," he muttered to himself. "Let's be pirate heroes."


	5. Intermission Two: Picket Fence

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> An intermission.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Modified from the forum post, due to Ao3's current incapability to display different colors: Originally, Davesprite and Dave were distinguished in the Pesterchum log via color; Davesprite has been designated 'fTG' for the time being.

 

Davesprite hadn't expected the imps to serve as such an attentive audience. The fact that two ogres and a basilisk had joined the group in the middle (causing him to have to stop, backtrack, and explain again for their sakes) surprised him even more. 

Seated there atop the amber block with its' plush monstrosity cased within, he almost felt like there was a little more to the various aspects of the game. Maybe the imps were only violent towards them because they, the players, attacked first. Maybe the trick to breaking the game was to make friends with the local yokels instead of splattering them like so many faceless Chinamen in a Dynasty Warriors game.

A mental image of the four kids and a half-dozen imps holding hands and dancing in a circle singing songs came unbidden to his mind. Had he been wearing a hat, it would've hit the floor in disgust, or at least contempt for his brain bringing up such disturbingly cheerful imagery.

Or, perhaps, he would've abstained from the furious hat-doffing. Maybe that little thought was just another sign that Jade had rubbed off on him a bit more than he had thought.

While he was lost in thought, the imps began to disappear. At first, only one or two, a sizzling pop like a fuse blowing; then a cacophany of the snap-crackle-popping of reality closing the gap where the imps had just been half an instant ago.

The ogres shared a confused look.

The basilisk hissed.

As one, the three brutes took off in terror, thinking that somehow, the little orange feathery sprite had managed to story the imps out of existence. Davesprite had half a second to utter a feeble 'What the--' and the two giants leapt from the side of the tower, the basilisk attempting futilely to work its' tiny wings fast enough to take flight. It wound up just skittering off the roof at a slightly not-so-steep angle.

 

In a matter of seven seconds, Davesprite found himself the only living entity atop the apartment construct.

"God _fucking_ dammit."

What Could Have Been: Intermission Two: Picket Fence

\--- turntechGodhead [fTG] has begun pestering turntechGodhead [TG] ---

fTG: hows it going down there  
TG: aside from the fact that im assdeep in alligators  
TG: and the fact that they keep trying to eat me when im not looking  
TG: then apologizing like its no big deal  
TG: and the other fact that two ogres and a basilisk just  
TG: goddamn  
TG: exploded on the ground next to us  
TG: shits great  
TG: feels good man  
fTG: ok  
fTG: fuck  
fTG: i was just asking  
TG: look  
TG: im about fed up with these scaly bastards  
TG: how did you deal with them  
TG: they keep asking about some magic dicks  
fTG: you mean disks  
TG: or something  
TG: this accent of theirs is hard to follow  
fTG: they mean the records of time  
fTG: the things i made the timetables from  
fTG: theyre in the temple  
TG: thats more like it  
TG: straightforward fucking answer  
TG: these guys act like talking trivia books  
TG: never tell you what you want to know  
fTG: tell me about it  
fTG: anyway watch out for the giant smuppet  
TG: what  
fTG: theres a giant smuppet looking statue thing  
fTG: it comes loose when you pick up the records  
TG: like some indiana jones bullshit  
fTG: bingo  
fTG: you can get above it with the sick air though  
fTG: just gotta move fast  
TG: thanks for the heads up  
fTG: no problem

\--- turntechGodhead [fTG] ceased pestering turntechGodhead [TG] ---

  
Davesprite fumed to himself as he floated back and forth atop the platform above LOHAC, ticking off the possible reasons why the other three kids had gone silent to himself. 

John could be actually getting Jade into the game; if that were the case, his silence was a sign that he was focused on the matter. That would also mean Jade was extremely busy with her end of things. For all he knew, she could've had to build a huge-ass squiddle cannon and shoot her dog from it to get into the game, or something.

Since Rose was off exploring LOLAR, and Dave was prone to timeskipping when it wasn't always absolutely necessary, there was the possibility that she was caught up in talking to a future Dave that had come back to explain something or other to her so she could pass it on to the present Dave. 

Granted, fixing any huge mistakes by going back in time was clearly a good idea, but he couldn't hardly begin to imagine how much timefuckery Dave was going to get into in the future. Hell, the very fact that he had given the Timetables to Dave meant half of the puzzles in the temple were solvable before getting the records. He didn't want to begin to wonder what might happen if Dave didn't take the records.

The other possible answers, on the other hand, were too disturbing to think about. He didn't have the Timetables any more. He couldn't go back in time again. He'd just have to hope Dave could fix whatever got fucked up. Just like he did.

...before he became a sprite...

He wanted to slap himself. He resisted the urge, instead delving into his mind for the various powers he gained as a Sprite.

There were a number of small bits of information, relatively unconnected aspects of the game; he knew he couldn't go down to the planet until Dave hit the third gate because at that point the weird barrier thing would be taken down from around the building. He couldn't directly fight the planet's Denizen, because it was simply invulnerable to his attacks; he could indirectly damage it by, say, bringing down a cog on its' head or something.

He could contact the other sprites, but only after Dave cleared the third gate. That was a start; he'd have to start giving Dave a play-by-play to get him through shit faster once he hit the second gate. It didn't solve the problem of being unable to locate the other players.

He had combat abilities beyond his own innate skills standard to all sprites, which was a given... themed to his own personal style... so, what, SBaHJ beam? Shooting nanchos and jelly-covered hot gods everywhere? Fuck if that wouldn't be the best thing ever. 

He focused back on his inner search. He could tell how far in the game the other players had gotten... he could speak to the--

Wait.

He could tell how far the kids were. How the hell did he miss this?

That meant that if one of them had died, he'd know. He knew Dave had just entered the temple. He knew Jade was still not in the game, but for some reason, her meteor had long already been registered as landed. Rose was... taking a nap somewhere on the island, it seemed. Whether she was up to anything on Derse, he couldn't tell-- a limitation to his sprite radar.

But where was John?

He had gone through the Creation, whatever the hell that was. The game's mechanics then attempted to put him back on track, sending him to a gate that would take him back to his home...

...but something had interfered. John wasn't in the game session any more. Not dead... but not there. 

A cold chill ran down Davesprite's back. The game was being weird about quantifying whatever it was that interfered. It was a sprite, but it was a player. It was a 'Maid of Time', but it was an NPC. Quantifying it was giving him a headache something fierce, and he let the matter drop. Some sort of error in the game mechanic, or something, as far as he could tell.

Coiling up against the amber block, he slumped with a sigh. At least he knew the kids were alright. Maybe it was because he was so invested in making certain that there were no other big fuckups, but damn was he getting tired.

Maybe a short nap wouldn't hurt...


	6. Noirallegiance

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Fate brings people together in strange ways. Two members of an old team assemble, and prove that even after five years, old skills-- and old flames-- burn just as brightly as before.

The night was dark and cold, as nights in the city often were. Illuminated by the harsh bulbs of street lamps, a single figure strode alone on the sidewalk, hands in the hip-pockets of a pair of impeccably pressed pinstripe slacks, a deep blue pinstriped longcoat draped loosely on the shoulders and waving lightly in the night air, like the long black hair that flowed down the back.

Steel blue eyes calmly surveyed the world behind round-rimmed glasses beneath a broad-brimmed men's blue fedora, pinstriped to match the rest of the ensemble. A pale blue silk shirt underneath a two-button vest (pinstriped like the rest) completed the look. For all the world, she looked like a million dollars. Judging by the grin-- slightly bucktoothed, a hint of imperfection in that face of beauty that served only to heighten its' impact-- she knew just as well as he did.

He, for lack of a better turn of phrase, resembled a creamsicle that sprouted legs, put on a tie, and told the world where to stick it. An orange tuxedo, garishly bright against the hood of the black Cadillac he leaned against, with matching tangerine slacks and a pair of wingtipped black shoes complementing his flaming orange hair. The emerald-green batwing bowtie matched his angry eyes, ordinarily hidden behind sunglasses as black as the night. On anyone else it would've been a garish, jarring look; on him, it seemed strangely fitting.

She swallowed a laugh when he looked up from the small notebook he was writing in, and he raised an eyebrow, the corner of his lips twitching imperceptively, causing the toothpick in his mouth to bob once. It was enough for her, though. She knew he was glad she had come.

Stopping beside the back wheel of the car, she looked around at the empty street, then back to her brightly-dressed companion. "Th'othahs ain't heah yet?" Her accent was thick; city life had changed her greatly in the past five years. He uttered a derisive snort and pushed off of the hood of the car, tucking the notepad into his pocket.

"Dunno what's got John held up, but I know Rose's off being a flighty broad again. O'course knowin' them, that's probably why he's late too." A southerner's accent, with the beginnings of a Brooklyner's lilt; the city affected even him. He jostled the toothpick from the left side of his mouth to the right, then nodded toward her. "You sure you wanna get that pretty getup dirty?"

She shrugged, giving the hem of her longcoat a light tug; a pair of short black silk gloves adorned her hands. Tight, and thin; perfect for delicate work. "If weah gonna be in tha papahs, I might as well look good, yeah?" She gestured to him with one hand, the other returning to its' pocket. "Wha'bout you? Y'look like a goldfish what swallowed a bellhop."

That got a smirk out of him, but little else. "If weah gonna be in tha papahs," He mocked, and reached in through the open window of the car. "Figured in this day and age, if there's some green crew runnin' round, and some black crew runnin' round, I might as well stand out a little, yeah?" She wrinkled her nose at his imitation, and frowned.

From the car, he withdrew a long, thin black case. To any casual onlooker, it would've been nothing more than an instrument case; he looked for all the world like he was just getting ready to go play a bass clarinet in some speakeasy. By the time he looked up from the act, her left hand was no longer in her pocket, but holding the grip of a sawed off Browning Automatic, a makeshift sling hanging from her left shoulder under her coat.

As one, they glanced up at the sign on the jewelry store his car was parked in front of. There was no hiding what they were here to do anymore.

They remained still for a few minutes, both watching each other, both knowing the question on the other's mind. Both waited for the other to speak.

"Dave--"  
"Jade--"

They both clammed up immediately.

"You go foist."  
"You go first."

A beat passed, then another. She cracked first, a grin; then he smirked, she uttered a titter, and they were both laughing into the night air. She slung the gun back up under her coat and walked up to him, pulling a small green carnation from the inner pocket of her coat. "Ya wanna look respectable, ya gotta complete tha look," She said softly as she tucked it into his left lapel buttonhole and gave it a light pat, smiling up at him. "Theah. Y'gotta boutonniere all hansome like."

When she attempted to step away, Dave's free hand caught her elbow, and she froze, turning her eyes up to his. Mere inches apart, he held her gaze levelly. "Jade... s'yer last chance to back out," he whispered. "John an' Rose knew it was dangerous. They're stayin' away 'cause they know somethin's gonna go wrong. I don' wanna--"

She jerked her arm away, her hand whipping back up and slapping him hard across the face. Even behind the silk glove, it stung like a sonofabitch, and she knew it, by the shellshocked stare he gave her in return.

"I tol' ya a dozen times befoah, and Imma tell ya every time ya says it, Imma do dis witcha whethah ya like it ah not!" She hissed. 

"Ya already left us in tha lurch five yeahs ago! Yah show up outta tha blue an' expect us ta fahget what happened in Kansas, like it was no big deal thatcha went an' tried ta knock ovah that speakeasy widdout us sos we don' get hurt an--" she began to choke up, fighting back tears, and he pulled her into an awkward, one-armed hug. "I'm nah gonna lose you again, dammit," she sobbed, clutching at his tuxedo.

They remained like that for a few minutes, while she took deep breaths and calmed herself; presently, she lifted her face from his chest, and patted at his tux. "I done wrinkled ya up," she mumbled, and looked up at him, red-eyed. He averted his own gaze, but not before she caught sight of his own tears, and she smiled, but said nothing.

Somewhere else in the town, a clock tower tolled. One... two... three.

"Three in the mornin'," Dave said, rubbing at his eyes with his sleeve. "Time ta jam, yeah?" Jade quipped, and elbowed him lightly. He offered her his arm, and she took it, hooking her hand gently into the crook of his elbow. "Whatevah happens, I'm witcha," She whispered.

As one, they walked up the steps to Serket's Jewelry.

\---

It should've been fine.

  
Her handiwork was masterful as always; the lock posed no problem to her talented fingers. The alarm was of the highest security, but even it was fallible, and a single well-thrown knife from Dave's sleeve severed the electrical wires that powered it, leaving the sizable jewelry store as silent as the rest of the night.

They knew there would still be a silent alarm; they didn't have the time to bandy about and hand-pick the jewelry. Dave withdrew a large cloth bag from his case and tossed it to Jade as she unhooked the velvet rope separating the sales floor from the back room.

Setting the case down, he drew his own bag from it and clipped it shut, then draped the bag over a glass case; resting his elbow on it, he took a deep breath, folded his fingers together, and slammed his elbow into the glass. Not one to waste time, he quickly pulled the sack over to the next glass case and repeated the act.

While he was working his way through the display cases, Jade was dumping the contents of the backroom's safety deposit (a key-and-combination lock? No challenge) into her bag. Picking up a jeweler's monocle, she pocketted it, and began to pull numerous small drawers full of uncut stones from their shelving, dumping each drawer in and stacking them neatly on the table.

By the time she came out of the back room, Dave had systematically busted every sales case in the joint, and using a dust pan from behind the counter, was scooping the contents of them into his bag, which was already almost half full. Jade quickly joined in using a second dust pan from the back room.

They had the entire store cleaned out in a matter of seven minutes. That should've been more than enough time. They even had a moment to snap a photo with a timed box camera Jade found in the back and left sitting in the center display case: Jade with her elbow propped on Dave's shoulder, her hat cocked at an angle, Dave's arm hooked lightly around her waist, the both of them holding a large bag full of swag and wearing cocky grins.

"What brought on the camera idea?" Dave asked, holding the door open for Jade. She shrugged, hoisting her bag over her shoulder. 

"Saw it back theah, figyahd we could do da papahs a service an' let 'em see what we look like, yeah?" She strode calmly out the door, followed shortly when Dave snatched up his case and stepped out. As a simple service, Jade even took a moment to re-latch the lock while he tossed the bags into the back seat of his Cadillac.

When they heard the sirens, it was already too late.

Jade's head snapped up, and Dave almost gave himself whiplash turning to face the flashing red lights coming up the street. Before either of them had a chance to react, a gunshot slugged Dave in the left shoulder, and he spun, dropping to one knee.

Jade's reaction was immediate. Her coat fell from her shoulders to reveal a low-slung bandolier of clips as she whipped up her Browning with one hand and squeezed off a dozen rounds in the direction of the cop cars, sprinting toward Dave, who was already up and lurching into the Caddy.

Hauling himself across the front seat, he cranked the engine as Jade leapt into the passenger side door and slammed it shut, her hat tumbling into the back seat from her momentum. "Go! GO!" She shouted, but he was already flooring it, the tires barking once, briefly, as the car lurched into motion. Gunfire peppered the back of the car, but he'd had it built for that kind of abuse.

Jade blind-fired a few rounds out of the passenger window, swore as the gun chattered at the empty clip, and dropped the clip, fumbling for a fresh one. "That gun-- is that an A1 or an A2?" Dave asked. "Also hang on, hard left!"

Jade ducked her head back into the car as he whipped the wheel aside, and very nearly went flying back out, grabbing the back of the seat for support. "A2 standahd wit da barrel sawed off, why?" He smiled, although it was almost more of a grimace. "Check unner the seat," he growled, yanking the car's parking break as they whipped around another curve far too quickly.

Confused, Jade dug under the seat, and pulled two massive fourty round clips up. Gawking at them, she looked up at Dave, who glanced at her, winked, and jerked the shifter. "Figured you wouldn't let me talk you out of this, so I thought I'd getcha a present!"

She pressed a quick kiss to his cheek and slammed one of the clips home, working the breach and scooting back over to the passenger door. "Hang on tight, they're--"

The gun chugged like a steam engine, two, three, four times, and she almost dropped it from the kick. "Armor piercing!" She laughed as one of the unfortunate cop cars wheeled sideways, the engine destroyed from the massive shells.

As the car leapt over a low bridge, Jade leveled her barrel at the base of a power pole, and squeezed off two shots; they chewed through the wood like paper, and she flicked her sights to the power pole across the road from it, popping off two more shots. Unable to hold themselves up, they dropped across the road, blocking the police cars.

With a triumphant whoop, she sat back down in the car and clicked the safety on, resting the gun across her knees. "See? That wadn't so bad, was it?" She asked as the car slowed, then turned down a dark alley. He shrugged his good shoulder, gritting his teeth.

"Not bad at all, darlin'," He said shortly as the car coasted to a stop. Jade glanced over at him with a confused look. "What're we doin' here?"

The floodlights that lit them up nearly blinded her. She lifted one hand to shield her eyes, the other going for her gun, but it was already gone, and the barrel of a revolver was resting against her temple. She slowly raised her hands, hissing out an epithet.

"Jade Harley! Step out of the car! We have you surrounded!" An officious voice barked.

"Sorry for this, love," Dave muttered. "The feds caught me when I hit the speakeasy... they offered me a deal that was too good to pass up." She glanced over to see him draw an FBI badge from his coat pocket. Tears welled up in her eyes.

"Yah... ya din't..." She whispered. He shook his head as someone opened the passenger door and hauled her roughly out of the seat. 

"I did what I had to do."

A tall, broad-shouldered cop handcuffed her and lead her to one of the FBI cars as he got out and pulled his case from the back of his car. Two more picked up the sacks of contraband, taking them to the same car that she had been brought to, and were tossed into the trunk.

Walking calmly up to the car, he stopped to turn a flat glare at the police chief, who waved a bullhorn at him curtly. "You too, Strider. With you in the car she won't try anything." He nodded toward the case in his hand. "What'cha got there?"

Dave frowned at the man. "Pray ya never find out." He tossed the case into the trunk of the car and slammed it shut, opening the other back door and sliding in next to Jade. She wasn't looking at him, but was rather staring at the seat, weeping openly.

Steel-faced, he nodded to the driver as the broad-shouldered cop got into the front seat, and the car pulled away.

\---

They hadn't been driving for too long before she started to realize something wasn't quite right. Lifting her head, she looked around, and stifled a gasp of surprise; they weren't in the city any more. She turned a confused look to Dave, who gave her a wry smile and reached over, sticking a key into the lock of her handcuffs.

"I did what I had to do."

As the cuffs fell from her wrists, she noticed for the first time the blonde female cop driving the car. A pair of opalescent violet eyes smiled back at her through the rear-view mirror as the broad-shouldered fellow turned in his seat and removed his hat, revealing a touseled shock of black hair. 

"By tha time they figyah us out, we'll be loooong gone," John chuckled, and set his hat on Jade's head. Tears welled in her eyes, but for a different reason altogether.

"Buncha useless mooks," She laughed.

**Author's Note:**

> Until such time as AO3 is able to handle HTML formatting (or the relative equivalent), I won't be using colors or alternate font formatting for anything in Impermanence; feel free to imagine any chat-log sections to be in the respective colors of their respective characters.


End file.
